


Chef's Special

by bookwyrmling



Category: xxxHoLic
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, M/M, There is not enough domestic douwata in this world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwyrmling/pseuds/bookwyrmling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three ways Shizuka loves to see Kimihiro.  Cooking and smiling are the only two he is willing to share with others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chef's Special

Shizuka kicked off his shoes as he closed the door behind him, leaving them set in the genkan and silently treading the hallways to the kitchen where he could hear sizzling and Kimihiro humming. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching for a moment in wonderment because while there was always something about watching Kimihiro – something entertaining and captivating – it was even more obvious when he was cooking or smiling. Shizuka was one hundred percent certain those were two of the three ways he most liked seeing Kimihiro and the only of the three ways he would allow anyone else to see Kimihiro like. That third one – or was it the first one? – was a face for him alone and, thinking about it, Shizuka slipped up behind the oblivious man, wrapping one hand around his waist, leaning his head on his shoulder and reaching around with his other hand to pick up one of the freshly fried fishcakes Kimihiro had just fished out of the oil.

Kimihiro jumped and gasped, taken completely unaware as he turned wide eyes to see Shizuka. Surprised mismatched eyes darkened into a glower and Shizuka smirked at the sight only to frown when the chopsticks in Kimihiro’s hand came rapping down hard on his hand holding the still sizzling fishcake.

“It’s still hot, you idiot! I just pulled it out of the oil. What are you, three? You have to touch anything and everything? What are you going to do if you put it in your mouth and burn it?”

“But if I already burned my fingers…” Shizuka pointed out sensibly that he would rather not have done that for no gain as he moved to pick up the fishcake he had dropped back onto the counter when Kimihiro had hit his hand.

“You-!” Kimihiro’s face went red as he dropped the chopsticks and pulled Shizuka’s hand up to see angry, swollen fingertips, “THAT’S WHY YOU DON’T TOUCH FOOD STRAIGHT OFF THE STOVE IN THE FIRST PLACE! Five-year-olds know better than you!”

Kimihiro dragged him four steps over to the sink before turning on the cold water and dunking his hand under the stream. Shizuka did not mind. The burn itself was not a bad one and would fade soon enough. If anything, the pads of his fingers might feel a little tingly and numb for a few days, but the calluses of his years and years of continued archery practice protected the more sensitive flesh from damage.

Kimihiro’s hand around his wrist felt warm in comparison to the cold water, though, and he was still holding his waist. Shizuka gave a squeeze and Kimihiro turned to glare at him with a dusting of pink that lit up Shizuka’s gaze once more.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked to distract Kimihiro before he blew up again. Kimihiro harrumphed and pulled his fingers out from the water to give them a once-over before shoving them back in, “Pasta.”

Shizuka sent a curious glance at the fishcakes and, almost as if he had asked the question out loud, Kimihiro sighed. “Those are for tomorrow. I’m making oden; it’s supposed to snow.”

“For lunch?”

“For dinner.”

“I want nabe,” Shizuka countered with a disapproving frown, “with noodles.”

“We’re having noodles tonight,” Kimihiro argued and rolled his eyes before a smoky scent drew both of their attention to the stove before Doumeki could argue the designation of pasta as noodles.

“The surimi!” Kimihiro panicked as he dropped Shizuka’s arm and ducked underneath to run and fish out the now smoking black fried cakes. He stared at them with a scowl because, as black as these were, there would be no salvaging them.

Shizuka watched the disappointment cloud Kimihiro’s face as he turned off the water and shook his hand over the sink before patting it dry against his pants and walking up behind the cook once more. Grabbing the cooking chopsticks out of Kimihiro’s hand, Doumeki picked up one of the burnt pieces and shoved it in his mouth.

“Hot,” he stated around the piece, chewing with his mouth open and juggling the burnt cake between different sides of his mouth.

“You idiot! What did I just tell you? Spit it out!” Kimihiro scolded as he grabbed the chopsticks back, looking around for something before sighing his aggravation and holding out his hand.

“But it’s hot,” Shizuka argued, not wanting to burn Kimihiro’s hand and Kimihiro stamped his foot and threw his hands into the air before dragging Shizuka back over to the sink.

“Spit. It. Out! It’s burnt! It can’t taste good!” he commanded and smacked Shizuka on the back in an attempt to facilitate the evacuation, but Shizuka only finished chewing and swallowed.

“You do this to spite me! I know you do!” Kimihiro howled as he ran for the refrigerator and pulled a bottle of green tea out, quickly pouring a glass and shoving it into Shizuka’s hands. “Drink!”

“Cold,” Shizuka complained and the PET bottle crunched in Kimihiro’s grasp.

“It is not cold! You’re just an idiot who burned his mouth! Drink it!”

Shizuka did finish the glass of with a grimace before turning back to Kimihiro and raising an eyebrow. “There’s a better way,” he suggested and Kimihiro’s deadpan face said the other man was having none of it.

“I’m not kissing you to make it feel better,” he griped before turning back to his stove to find the range had been turned off, “You’re the idiot who got himself hurt, so you can suffer the consequences. Did you turn off the stove?”

“It would get in the way.”

“In the w-?” Kimihiro’s gaze went from confusion directed at the stovetop to disbelief directed at Shizuka, “You’re the one getting in the way! I’m trying to cook! You want dinner, don’t you? You glutton!”

“And lunch tomorrow,” Shizuka agreed.

Kimihiro nodded. “And lunch tomo- I TOLD YOU THIS IS FOR DINNER TOMORROW!” Picking up the nearest dish towel, Kimihiro whipped it at Shizuka, “Go! Take a bath! Get out of my hair.”

Shizuka hummed and nodded, approving of the idea, but adding, “Come with me.”

Kimihiro’s jaw dropped and he shook the dish towel out. “I have to cook!”

“I want you first,” Shizuka argued, his brows furrowing.

“Me?” Kimihiro’s eyebrows and mouth danced silent confusion as he tried to piece together Shizuka’s meaning before enlightenment crashed through and embarrassed anger sent his face redder than a tomato and his shoulders hunched and shaking like a volcano about to blow. “WE’RE NOT NEWLYWEDS!” he shrieked, flailing his arms and flapping the kitchen towel, “PERVERT!” Shizuka walked up to Kimihiro as he paced and flailed and screeched very much like a bird instead of a cat. “Doumeki, you perve-”

Shizuka grabbed his arms, forced them down against his side, and kissed him.

Kimihiro fought, of course. He always fought at first unless he was the one initiating their kisses. After everything they had been through, it still came down to a matter of pride and the fact that Kimihiro somehow felt threatened by his presence. Shizuka did not understand it. Could not understand it. All it took was a word from Kimihiro – a look – and he had Shizuka falling to his knees. Kimihiro had Shizuka tied around his little finger and Shizuka both craved and feared the day Kimihiro realized just how much power he held.

Shizuka nibbled at Kimihiro’s bottom lip and one blue and one murky gold eye slammed open as he gasped and Shizuka took his opening before he lost it, sweeping his tongue inside to find Kimihiro’s own.

“Nn!” Kimihiro’s eyes slammed shut once again, but he kept his jaw open, entry granted now that it had been taken. By the third swipe of their tongues, Kimihiro’s stiff form had melted against Shizuka and, at the fourth, he kissed back, pressing up against him. Shizuka finally released his arms and, instead of pushing away, Kimihiro wrapped them around Shizuka’s waist and twisted his fingers in the fabric of his blazer just as Shizuka ran his hands up Kimihiro’s arms and pushed the kerchief out of his hair.

Shizuka could feel the dish towel brushing against the back of his legs. “Kimihiro,” he whispered as he broke the kiss. Kimihiro’s face was flushed, his eyes half-lidded and glassy distant. His lips were wet and swollen red and parted invitingly in puffs of breath.

This was the face no one else was allowed to see – or at least the start of it.

Leaning back down, Shizuka forewent the invitation of the mouth for Kimihiro’s jaw, tracing it back to his ear and then down his neck. Kimihiro shivered and moaned, “Shizuka.” At the sound of his given name from those red red lips, Shizuka bit at Kimihiro’s collar bone. The dishtowel fell, slipping from Kimihiro’s hands as his fingers splayed along Shizuka’s back and fingernails scraped through the thick polyester and he gasped.

The towel was forgotten, along with the kitchen, fishcakes and pasta versus noodles and oden for lunch as the two men sought out the bedroom, Shizuka’s deft fingers untying Kimihiro’s housecoat and leaving that in the hallway, ten feet closer to the bedroom than the bandanna because, right now, this was what he needed.

The cherry on top that Shizuka would realize when they both lay in bed, side by side, sweating, their chests heaving and bodies shuddering in the aftershocks of peaked pleasure? There would not be time for Kimihiro to make pasta now; they would have to have nabe tonight.


End file.
